Trials and Tribulations
by JessicaRae24
Summary: Missing scene for ‘Cloudy… Chance of Murder'. An extension of that little talk Henry and Shawn had in the kitchen. No slash.


**Trials and Tribulations**

**By:** JessicaRae

**Rating: **K+

**Spoilers: **Cloudy… Chance of Murder

**Summary: **Missing scene for _'Cloudy… Chance of Murder._ An extension of that little talk Henry and Shawn had in the kitchen.

**Author's Notes: **Well, I really loved this scene in this episode. I just wanted to add to it and get into Shawn's and Henry's heads a bit more. This starts a little before the kitchen scene, then carries on through it and beyond. I hope you enjoy it! Please review!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters of Psych and gain no money from this. This is for entertainment purposes only and no infringement is intended.

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Shawn shut the taxi door and then watched it drive away. God, he missed his bike. He'd been having trouble sleeping at just the thought of not getting his beloved bike back. He just _had _to get it back.

Shaking those thoughts away, he took in a deep breath and walked up to his father's door. With every step he repeated to himself that it was a good idea. His dad was already versed in the case after sitting in on the trial, so he shouldn't have to fight too hard to get in the door.

Stopping at the threshold, Shawn froze. He hated himself every time he had to go to his dad for help on a case. Hell, anytime he needed his dad's help for anything. It just solidified his father's opinion that he couldn't do anything by himself. Which in some sick way was the reason he was here tonight. Shawn knew he'd at the very least get some feedback(condescending as it may be) from him that might trigger something in his mind, something that he had been missing. He also knew he was probably walking right into another fight, but the aftermath of his anger usually tended to jump start his brain, too.

Shawn breathed in deeply. He could do this. He _had _to do this. Setting his mouth into a firm line, Shawn reached out to press the doorbell, but before he managed to ring it his father's voice came from inside.

"For cripe's sake, Shawn," he groused, the door suddenly opening to reveal Henry's frowning face. "Quit your impersonation of a doormat and get in here, or go home."

Shawn's eyes narrowed at the analogy, which actually described his relationship with his dad quite well. His father had walked all over him so many times it was a wonder he didn't have footprints embedded in his back. If he'd had his bike Shawn would have probably just said_ "Screw it." _and left, but as it was he was stranded and might as well go through with what he'd intended.

"I want to talk about the case," he softly said, getting right to the point.

Henry sighed, shaking his head. He moved aside and gestured for Shawn to enter, "I figured as much. Get in here."

Shawn stepped past his father and shrugged out of his coat. He draped it over a nearby chair and studied it for a moment, fingering the worn brown leather. It always felt weird to wear it when he wasn't riding his bike.

"So," started Henry, smiling as he went back into his kitchen, "You're stumped, huh?"

Shawn closed his eyes for a moment, having heard the smile in his father's voice, and then turned to watch the man busy himself in the kitchen, "I'm not _stumped, _Dad. It's just- just-" He looked to the ceiling and held a hand out, fingers grasping, as he searched for the right words.

"Just what, Shawn?" Henry prodded, annoyance in his tone. He finished drying the plate in his hands and set it on the counter.

"Just-" Shawn started again, then threw his hands out in frustration. "All right, I'm stumped. Happy?"

"No," Henry answered, "Not really. I'm guessing that tape was pretty damning toward your girl."

"Pretty damning?" Shawn repeated, glancing at his dad as he began to walk the length of the room, pacing. "It's gonna be a unanimous guilty verdict when the jury sees it, but Sandra doesn't want to plea bargain and to be honest, I encouraged her not to."

"And why's that?" Henry asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"'Cause she didn't do it!" shouted Shawn, pacing faster in his agitation, "I know, _I know,_ that she didn't do it, I just- ...I just can't _prove_ it."

Henry had had about enough of trying to follow his son as he walked the room. He sighed.

"Quit pacing, Shawn. You're making me nervous."

He said it more for Shawn than himself, because he wasn't the one practically hyperventilating with frustration. His son was working himself up for no reason, and it was hampering his thinking rather than helping it.

"I can't afford it, Dad," Shawn continued, throwing a hand up as he continued to pace. "I can't afford a guilty verdict on my record now. I can't!"

Henry laughed, drying another plate, "You do realize that you're not a real lawyer, right? You, uh, don't _have_ a record."

Shawn ignored him, spinning around to walk the room again. His dad didn't understand. If Shawn were to lose the case it would not only send an innocent woman to prison, but it would discredit him as a psychic. It would give the doubters something to throw in his face. He could _never_ be wrong.

He started talking again, his words coming fast as he thought out loud, "It's so weird. The prosecution keeps on treating this case like a crime of passion. She only knew him for a couple of hours. I ask you, how much passion can you muster up for someone in a couple of hours?"

"Yeah. Well, crimes of passion are rarely about love or sex, Shawn," Henry pointed out to his son. "They are closer to revenge. Sometimes hatred. I would say that your angry meteorologist is the best suspect you got going."

Shawn threw a hand out, "He didn't do it."

"Yeah. I know that, Shawn. My point is you need to find somebody who felt like that."

"Dad, believe me. There are plenty," Shawn finally stopped his pacing and leaned on the table before him. "The guy slept with half of Santa Barbara. We'd put 'em all on the stand. The problem is that Sandra is the only one that was there." He suddenly noticed something sitting in front of him on the table; his train of thought diverted to the odd object and he wondered why the hell his dad had it. "You have a whisk."

Henry rolled his eyes. Shawn had the shortest attention span sometimes. He walked by Shawn and lightly smacked him in the chest, partly in retaliation for the whisk dig and partly to snap the boy back on topic, "I do and you are not looking close enough."

"Well, you know what? It's tough when virtually everything imaginable is stacked against me," vented Shawn, all that had been happening to him lately coming to a head. He began pacing again, "I've got you're ass staring me down in the courtroom. I've got a defense attorney who breaks every time the wind blows. I've got to hitch rides every time I need to go somewhere because, get this, there's some rogue meter maid who's decided to have a ticketing vendetta against me and my motorcycle."

"Well, Shawn," spoke Henry, a knowing look in his eye. "Maybe that might not happen if you didn't park your bike 14 feet from a fire hydrant outside your apartment."

"Dad, you've seen my street. The parking is a joke. Wha-" Shawn froze as he stared at his father. He felt his chest constrict, slowly getting tighter and tighter.

"How did you know that?" His hazel eyes bore into his dad, who just shrugged and turned away.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. How do you know that?"

Henry ignored him, walking to the sink to continue drying dishes, which by now were already dry. He dried them anyway.

"Wait a second!" Shawn shouted, not letting Henry turn his back to him. He followed his dad to the sink, "How did _you _know that?"

Henry gave Shawn a brief look, "Well, look who's paying attention now."

"You tipped them off?" Shawn's eyes squinted in pain and disbelief. "You tipped them off about my bike?"

Henry faced his son, his face unreadable, "Who taught you how to drive, Shawn? Who do you represent every time you're out on that road?"

Shawn raised his hands to grip his head, a hysterical smile of disbelief pulling at his lips. He truly didn't know what went on in his father's head sometimes. He turned away, throwing his hands out and shouting, "I don't represent anybody when I go out on the road! Dad, they took my bike!"

"Tell it to the embassy," Henry's gruffly replied.

"I-I-I might not be able to get it out of the impound!" cried Shawn, stuttering as he struggled to believe this was happening. His father _knew_ how much that bike meant to him.

Henry smirked. It was an all-knowing look that Shawn despised, "Well, then maybe it's time for you to consider a real mode of transportation. Huh?"

Shawn's eyes narrowed in loathing as he walked back up to his father. His voice was low and angry when he spoke.

"You will do anything you can to impose your will on me. You hated that bike. You have always hated that bike. And you've been especially hard ass about it since I-" Shawn broke off, all his anger suddenly freezing in his chest at the thought that just crossed his mind.

"Since you what, Shawn?" asked Henry, eyeing his son. "Since you what? Since you had your accident? Is that it? Is that when your old man crossed the line?"

Henry threw the dishtowel in the sink, "I'll tell you what, I will back off. I will lay off, man. I'll tell you what you do. You take me off your call list the next time the ambulance picks you up and brings you in that door. All right? Fair?"

Henry turned away from Shawn, unable to keep looking into those hazel eyes of disbelief. He tried to get some of his control back. He couldn't manage it, though. Shawn's inability to believe that his father actually cared about him just pissed him off more. He gripped the counter and then roughly pushed away.

He gave Shawn one last hard look, "Get over yourself, kid."

Henry grabbed the cup of coffee sitting on the table and walked to the door. He had to get away from Shawn and those eyes... Eyes he could feel following his every move. His anger grew at the feeling, but he pushed it back and brought his dark humor to the forefront instead, giving one parting shot before he stepped out of the door. It was a last ditch attempt at saving face, to cover up the weakness he had just shown.

"Or at least learn how to park."

And then Henry disappeared out the door, leaving Shawn alone.

Shawn stared at the door. To say he was stunned was an understatement. He wasn't entirely sure he had actually seen and heard what had just happened. Maybe he had zoned out like he sometimes did and dreamt it. If it weren't real, it would be easier to accept.

He ran a hand down his face, replaying the last few minutes in his mind. Shawn had never considered that his father hated the bike because of the possibility that he could get hurt. After all, the man had wanted him to be a cop, which was definitely not the safest job around. Why the hell did he care about him riding around on a motorcycle?

He needed to sit down. Shawn went to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. He plopped down into it with a sigh. Folding his arms to rest them on the table, he slumped over and buried his head in them. He had a headache. Just now, all of a sudden, it was pounding behind his eyes.

God, he didn't need this. Now besides the case whirling around in his brain, he had this new issue with his dad. He guessed he could just add it to the ever-growing list and then move on. It would be easier than trying to understand it.

Henry Spencer was the only person Shawn could never figure out. For all his skills, his dad was an enigma. The man would push his buttons, getting him so angry and frustrated that he couldn't think straight. Henry was an expert at diversion, and he used it on his son all the time. Call it a defense mechanism or whatever, but Shawn was just so damn tired of it.

He just hated that man so much, so much that it physically hurt sometimes. But that man was also his dad, and he loved him. He couldn't help but still look to him for guidance. Even after everything, Shawn still depended on him. He_ hated_ that fact.

Shawn sat up and held his head in his hands, elbows propped on the table. He stared down at the table, the wood grain blurring as tears pooled in his eyes. How could a person hate someone so much and still love him? He just didn't understand it. Couldn't. Sometimes he grew so angry with his dad that he could punch him. Other times… Other times he was just happy he was still around.

He blinked carefully, not wanting the tears to escape, willing them to dry before they fell. Shawn Spencer didn't cry. He was too happy and carefree to ever have a reason to cry.

A wry smile turned his lips as a single laugh escaped, the sound sounding more like a sob then laughter. He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes, wiping any moisture that remained away. He groaned.

"Gawd," he forced out, now pinching the bridge of his nose. "You gotta get a grip, man."

He took in a deep breath and exhaled loudly, letting his hand drop to the table. He blinked around at the room, wondering what he was even still doing there. He was damn sure that he was no longer welcome, if he ever was in the first place. What he really wanted now was to get on his bike and just drive. No more thinking and feeling. Just letting the wind blow all his thoughts away, leaving him content and at peace. Free.

He couldn't very well do that now, could he? The anger returned like an old friend, burning in his chest and flushing his face. Of all the stunts his dad had pulled, this was the worst. Irrational fear of Shawn being hurt wasn't good enough. It just wasn't. He could become a cop and get shot at, but he couldn't ride a damn motorcycle? The thought that his dad actually cared that much about him _did_ mean something to Shawn, but it didn't justify what his dad had done. He _loved _that bike. It was his most important possession. He had rebuilt her from the piece of scrap metal she was when he'd salvaged her. He had put two years of work into her, and in a blink of an eye she was gone… Because of a bunch of flippin' _parking _tickets?

Didn't his dad realize what that bike meant to him? Henry had once said Shawn had never finished anything in his life. Well, Shawn guessed that only applied to the things his dad thought were important. That bike was his greatest accomplishment. He had sweated for that bike, shed tears for that bike; he had _bled _for that bike.

Shawn smiled slightly as he rubbed his fingers over the scar marring the top of his right hand, the pink line stretching the width of it. A little slip of the wrench and one jagged piece of sheet metal he hadn't filed down yet was all it took to warrant a trip to the emergency room. Fifteen stitches later he was back to working on that bike, the filing down of that edge at the top of his 'to do' list.

Shawn shook his head, anger narrowing his eyes. He didn't care that to his dad it was just some stupid bike that he didn't need. To Shawn it was important. Shawn had thought that meant something. He should have known better, though. Nothing he had ever cared about meant enough to his father. Everything Shawn had ever wanted and cared about didn't matter. What his father wanted was what always had to come first.

Now, he just hoped he could get his bike back. He didn't know what he would do if he couldn't get it back.

God, it just wasn't fair!

Shawn shoved away from the table and stood. He had to get out of there. He had to get his head back into the case. The trial, his part in it anyway, would be ending tomorrow morning and unless he figured out who the real killer was, Sandra would be going to jail for Murder One.

Just one problem in that plan…

He didn't have a ride. Hell, he didn't even have his wallet. The damn thing was in Gus' car where he'd tossed it in frustration after seeing the videotape. All he had left for cash after paying for the cab was thirty bucks, and he was saving that for take-out. He hadn't eaten since breakfast.

That left only one option. It was one that didn't seem like a bad idea when he arrived at his father's house, but after this most recent fight and the things he had learned he wasn't looking forward to it at all. He would call Gus to come pick him up, but it was way past Gussy's bedtime and to wake him would be a bad thing for Shawn's current health.

God, he didn't want to do this… Taking in a deep breath, Shawn walked to the kitchen door and pushed through it.

Henry didn't turn when he heard the door open and shut, his son's footsteps shuffling on the patio. He just continued to lean against the railing, sipping his coffee and gazing out at the ocean. He was surprised Shawn hadn't left already.

Shawn cleared his throat, but his dad still didn't acknowledge him. He sighed. Talking to the back of his father's head was just as good as the front, he supposed.

"I, uh," Shawn started, his voice tentative and low. "I need a ride."

The cup paused for a second on its rise to Henry's lips, then resumed. After swallowing the cooling liquid he spoke, "Thought you'd call a cab or something."

"Uh, yeah," Shawn answered, switching his gaze to the ocean. "Kinda don't have my wallet and I'm short on cash."

Henry sighed. It was the 'What am I going to do with you?' sigh that Shawn knew all too well. He frowned in anger, defensive at his father's reaction.

"This wouldn't be a problem_ if I had my bike," _Shawn pointed out to his dad. "It's your fault I can't go where I please, when I please. You could at least give me a ride out of here."

Henry winced at the tone of his son's voice, the anger and contempt carrying over the night air. He was glad his back was turned, his features hidden.

"Fine," he replied, this voice rough. He set the coffee cup on the railing. "Get in the truck."

Henry waited until Shawn left, then gripped the back of his neck, trying to massage some of the tension out of it. This was going to be one long drive. Shaking his head, he grabbed the coffee cup and walked back through his kitchen. He set the cup in the sink, then turned and walked out the front door. He could see Shawn already sitting in the passenger seat, face downcast.

He paused at the sight. The image reminded him of when Shawn was younger and knew he was in trouble and was waiting for the reprimand. Frowning, Henry decided he was going to try and keep his mouth shut for once. He'd already said too much.

Henry opened his truck's door with a creak and hopped in, slamming it shut behind him. He grabbed the seatbelt and pulled it over him, clicking it into place. He put the truck in reverse, but kept the brake on, waiting. He stared at Shawn.   After a few seconds, Shawn looked up. He looked confused that they weren't moving, but then read the look on his father's face. With a roll of his eyes he clicked his own seatbelt into place.

Henry backed out of his driveway. He started to turn to the left, but Shawn stopped him.

"I'm not going home," he said, his eyes having returned to their study of his lap. "I'm going back to the office, back to Psych."

Henry frowned, glancing at the clock. It was half past 11 o'clock and the trial was scheduled to start at 8:30 the next morning.

"Shawn-" he started, but was interrupted.

"No," Shawn firmly stated, briefly lifting his eyes. "I am going back to the office. Either you take me there or I'm walkin'."

Henry pressed his lips together in disagreement, but nodded. He turned the other way down the street and made his way to Shawn's office. As he drove, he kept glancing at Shawn beside him. His son was gazing out his window, quiet. Henry felt as if he should say something, but he didn't know what. He never knew how to go about talking to his son, not about things that had to do with how he felt. He could teach and order his son about with ease, but when it came to heart to heart talks… It was pretty much a lost cause. Henry always stumbled over his words or chose the wrong ones with the wrong tone of voice, ending up causing a fight instead of saying what he had really wanted.

It was just… He regretted what he had done to cause Shawn's bike to be impounded. He hadn't at first. Hell, he had felt good about it until tonight. It was Shawn's reaction that caused shame to creep up on him. What he had done was underhanded and wrong. He should have just talked to Shawn, even though he knew he'd never talk his boy out of riding that damn thing. If Shawn cared about more things in his life like he cared about that bike…

Henry frowned. It was just that he didn't know how to keep Shawn safe while he was riding that damn bike. It was something he knew nothing about, unlike being a cop. He had taught Shawn everything he knew so that he could take care of himself when Henry wasn't around. Looking at his son now, he knew he should apologize for his actions, but something like that was like asking Henry to give up fishing. He had to do it, though. If that look of disbelief he'd seen was any indication, there were a lot of things he had to start doing.

As he pulled up to the Psych office, he searched his mind for the right words. This was it. He had to say something. Come on, you are an ex-cop. Just do it.

"Shawn-"

"No," Shawn interrupted, not looking at Henry. "Whatever you're going to say, I don't want to hear it… Not now. See ya tomorrow."

Shawn opened the door and slipped out. Henry reached across the seat, trying to catch his son's shoulder, but missing.

"Shawn!" he called out, but the door slammed shut. Henry watched his son walk up to Psych's front door and unlock it. He still sat watching as Shawn disappeared inside. After a few more minutes, Henry turned away and looked out the windshield of his truck. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and flexed his fingers.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, giving Psych one last look before putting the truck in gear and driving away. Someday he just might be able to say those words to his son's face, but the apology would be for a lot more than a motorcycle.

**The End.**

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